1

BOD

ON

Where oaks and elms, a friendly fhade,
O'erlook the falling ftream,

O mafter of the Latin lyre,

A while with thee will I retire

From fummer's noontide beam.

II.

And, lo, within my lonely bower,
The industrious bee from many a flower
Collects her balmy dews:

"For me," she fings, "the gems are born,
"For me their filken robe adorn,

"Their fragrant breath diffuse."

III.

Sweet murmurer! may no rude ftorm

This hofpitable fcene deform,

Nor check thy glad fome toils;

Still may the buds unfullied spring,

Still showers and funshine court thy wing

To thefe ambrofial spoils.

IV.

Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail
Her fellow-labourer thee to hail;

And lucky be the strains!
For long ago did nature frame
Your feafons and your arts the fame,
Your pleasures and your pains.

V.

Like thee, in lowly, fylvan scenes,
On river-banks and flowery greens
My Mufe delighted plays ;
Nor through the defart or the air,
Though fwans or eagles triumph there,
With fond ambition ftrays.

VI.

Nor where the boding raven chaunts,
Nor near the owl's unhallowed haunts
Will the her cares employ ;
But flies from ruins and from tombs,
From fuperftition's horrid glooms,
To day-light and to joy.

VII.

Nor will she tempt the barren waste;
Nor deigns the lurking ftrength to tafte
Of any noxious thing;

But leaves with fcorn to envy's use

The infipid nightshade's baneful juice,
The nettle's fordid sting.

VIII. From